Addict Road
by A Concerned Individual
Summary: A collection of MelloxMatt themed drabbles, based on impulse, habit, and all the instabilities in between. Slash obviously, some lime.
1. Highway

**Highway**

Only in Kira's world could you drive down I-56 utterly unopposed. After fifteen minutes of mindless and mechanical driving, something exciting, spontaneous flickered in Mello's eye, and he gave the slightest smirk to himself in the rear view mirror.

The car shuddered to a grinding halt. Matt swayed forwards in his seat a little, not once taking his eyes away from the tiny handheld screen in front of him. The sounds of the road ceased, and now the bitter night silence boasted only of low car motor hum, skilled finger tapping, shrill synthetic noises - _pik, pikoo_.

"Why we stopped?" He asked detachedly.

Mello did not reply - not with dull words, at least. Furiously he propped up the armrests and seized his companion by the folds of his vest. Matt fumbled for the pause button and remembered vaguely tucking the game into his vest pocket before reaching needlessly for Mello's shoulders.

Mello didn't care that a street light happened to be looming overhead, or that the gaudy light was probably just enough to clue in any onlookers. They'd get a good look, that's for certain; well let em look, the bastards. Hell, if somebody wanted to park next to the car with a video camera, he didn't have his pride to lose from this. That was what made the entire situation so completely gratifying. It was not something private, but no one else, dazed inferiors, could ever hold a perfect piece of it.

Tension was a beautiful thing sometimes, and the most inappropriate of situations, laughably ridiculous in thought, became real and receptive. When he _heard_ Matt's breath against his skin - and felt the anxious sweat on his chest and stomach under padded leather gloves - it was something else entirely. Something instant and addictive.

There was no _rhythm_, there was no _coordination_. Mello gripped the edge of the seat cushion, hovering over his closest comrade - the only one he could trust, the all-purpose friend, the instant addiction.

The car smelled like rotten air conditioner, stale chocolate - the highway, like wet gravel.

It was delicious.


	2. Pain

**Pain**

The scars were a small price to pay, Mello knew, and with that knowledge forced himself to accept them. He tried not to think about it - the hideous skin would never be a part of him again. They were superficial, inhuman; just a reminder of his mistakes that would haunt him forever. The real pains came later, when he concluded that the sensitive area hindered him in too many ways to simply become ignorable.

The first was in the form of Matt's instantaneous face-falter when they'd reunited in a moment, and Mello pulled off the leather hood. Now, maybe Matt hadn't said anything, and the tinge of disgust only lasted a second, so that Mello suspected it was never really there at all, and all in his imagination.

But when the lazy kisses trailed down his neck and crossed over into delicate territory, Mello always had to stop him, growling lowly under his breath, unwilling to show weakness. But he knew Matt was suspicious, and always unconvinced; it was next to impossible to maintain a solid front. They'd discovered that from day one of their new partnership - the partnership that had gone from cooperative and effecient to perilous and unpredictable. Matt would find out about the scars one day. And he wouldn't even ask - This much, Mello knew.

It would be in one of his completely vulnerable moments, baked in sweat and lost to mindless pleasures.

Mello shuddered as he remembered those hands, the ones idly tangled in a video game, miles away right now. Matt was enjoying himself, but he also waited. Matt was always waiting for him. And in just a few days those fingers would become occupied once again with more dangerous activities - venturing into places no one else would dare to go, snaring the hair that no one else would ever love, tracing the scar tissue that no one else would ever touch.

Mello decided, in three days and three nights, he would be back in that apartment - and he would bear the pain.


	3. Peace and Tranquility

**Peace and Tranquility **

Sometimes, Mello knew he would never enjoy a restful sleep again. It was a sacrifice, but a _necessary one_, he reminded himself in a tired grumble every now and then. Just as he couldn't allow himself to admit he was _sick_ of Near, _sick_ of Kira, _sick_ of pulling chilling all-nighters in front of cameras and stale footage.

Matt's favorite spot was the fold-out couch in front of the TV, where the news stayed on almost 24/7. Mello smirked - he couldn't help it - at the careless limbs hung around couch cushions. Matt was good at taking orders, until it bored him. "Keep your eyes on the news until you absolutely can't," he remembered ordering, in a bout of frustration, after Matt arrived back from a brief shopping trip 20 minutes late (when asked for reasons, he merely shrugged), and not more than an hour later Mello heard the sound of quiet snoring drifting through his own concentration.

Presently, however, he noticed the man was stirring, one leg shifting almost mechanically from one spot to another, while the other slowly arched up at the knee. A quiet murmur seeped from the back of his throat. Mello clicked pause. The figures on his laptop quit screaming, the reporter stopped deadpanning under a grave and lifeless mask.

Mello kneeled before his quiet companion, still half-asleep, sprawled on the couch, muttering under his breath. He wasn't sure why he was wasting his time like this, but found it didn't concern him. Not as much as it should.

"Mmm... Mello?"

"Matt."

The urge suddenly came to scold him for enjoying some rest, when he could have been helping Mello as he agreed he would, while the most precious clue could have slipped by under his watch. The way he had the nerve to dawdle there, still basking in sweet sleep, staring with hidden eyes up at his comrade and yawning. Didn't he realize... there was no time?

But, as Mello decided in an instant, none of these things appealed to him right now. Acting upon impulse he bowed his head in some unknown gesture, before finding Matt's lips beneath his own, and Matt's arms moving, now hanging carelessly around his neck. There wasn't the slightest sign of struggle. Matt was nothing like the world.

Somewhere, on the other corner of the room, Kira screamed at him, bloody-eyed and full of hatred. But Mello could hear nothing except the satisfied sounds from deep within Matt's throat.

--

**A/N:** More on the way XD Thanks much for the reviews! BTW, read Bessy's (er, _The Shiny One's_) yummy M x M drabbles They're hiding under an "M" label, harhar. But they're quite awesome, man. We're both doing these for the same 100 theme challenge, but I am so losing. Hooray.


	4. Safe

**Safe**

"We're not safe, are we?"

"Nobody is, Matt. Accept it," Mello growled from beneath a mouth full of chocolate. The cheap kind, this week - resources were low. At this point, the tearing and biting and chewing and swallowing was all just a matter of habit.

Kiyomi Takada stared like a dumb chicken out through the television, now stalling for time, clucking away those needless repetitions of the things she had already announced twice before. _Kira approves only of just killings._ _Those who sin. Those who stand in his way._ But everyone knew what she _needed_ to say.

_No one is safe._

The arm not occupied with chocolate now draped itself across the top of the couch. It reached all the way behind Matt, so that Mello's fingers just barely brushed his opposite shoulder. It tended to happen. Neither ever seemed to acknowledge it.

"You'd think this Kira business would be more exciting," Matt mumbled.

"...Mmm."

The crowing continued, accompanied by shot after shot of the same low-quality street cam captures, of the same murders, of the same news. With one jagged motion Mello hit the remote on the table with the heel of his shoe, and abruptly Takada's face shut away. He stretched his arms up and out wide in both directions, leather thighs shamelessly spreading. This time one arm fell directly to that shoulder. He looped it around snugly - until his elbow hinged round Matt's neck and his fingers dawdled over a beating heart.

Slowly, he _did_ receive a strange look.

"Hey, what?"

Mello just stared blankly back, looking impatient. "What do you think?"

A few seconds passed - silent, stiff. Until finally, with a blind sigh (contentment? resignation?) Matt settled into the invitation, and stared blankly at the empty screen. Mello's every twitch, every constrict of his wrist, even his heart's very sheet music - Matt could sense it all.

He wondered if Mello knew that closeness offered... vulnerability. Probably, yet here was the contour in Mello's side, the place where bodies merged, carved specially for company, accepting him. Mello lured you in like a false comfort - or an addiction (familiar, dangerous) - but Matt knew at any time, the earth could shatter beneath their feet. And even Mello, hell's grisly fire himself, would burn no more.

He wondered if death would be thrilling. No. Maybe. But he'd like to avoid it, if he can.

He wondered why - though Kira's warning had been etched into every curve of Mello's features - he continued to act as though he were _untouchable_.

Matt was starting to feel that way too.

--

**A/N:** Look dialogue everybody - Zomg. Again, mucho merci to you reviewer people! We seriously need to start an MxM trend or somethin.


	5. In Denial

**In Denial**

"What? Why would you even say so?" Mello spat.

Nonplussed, Matt idly weighed the cigarette in his mouth. "It's just what it seems like."

The hot-blooded of the two smirked, now, settling into the living chair. So this was Matt's game. "Is it that you're tired of the effort?" He asked, letting the question hang dangerously in the stale air. "Is this all too dull for you? Are you giving up?"

"I never said that. "

"But you _wouldn't_ come out and say it."

"You're the one avoiding my question," Matt pointed out bluntly. He was playing with fire, now. "I'm just a real convenience, aren't I, Mello?"

The stare he received in return was not icy - but sharp, nonetheless. Though Mello hissed his reply through gritted jaws, every word was decisive.

"No, Matt. That's not true."

--

**A/N: **Maedhros - Haha, I'm already a member of deatheyes, I stalk two different M/M centric yaplog sites, and I'm bankin on having the biggest archive of saved fanart on my machine in the entire fanworld... Is that frightening? XD

Extremely subtle in this one, I know.


	6. Second Chance

**Second Chance**

Like all young boys, Matt discovered on his own what it felt like to tell a secret that isn't yours. He soon discovered a sickly and sour feeling in his stomach, and found that no amount of _Fury III_ for the game boy could cure it.

He hadn't meant to. It was all Paulie's fault - the little swedish girl with the big brown eyes. She was precious, they all said. And that was the thing - that sweet little voice that never knew when to let up. She'd coerced the truth out of him like a trapped animal; he'd figured Mello would have to understand. What kind of friend would he be if he didn't?

He didn't need Mello, anyway! What good was someone that irritable? And with such a bad secret in the first place...

Tasteless cracker crumbs drifted from the boy's mouth and finally he stopped pretending like he wasn't in tears. With the sleeve of his shirt he bitterly wiped the hot wetness (and the salty crumbs) off his cheeks, bit down on his lip and fell against the mattress, eyes shut tight. The short, erratic breaths: the only sign that he was awake. As the minutes ticked by, those breaths faded into rhythm again.

He felt the sheets being draped over him some half-hour later. One of the caretakers, no doubt, tucking in the napping child before running off to tend to some more urgent disaster - playground mishap, an ill quarrel, maybe a spill. Already thoroughly disgusted with himself, Matt did not bother with his dignity when he felt the warm breath, warm lips on his cheek.

Until he smelled the chocolate.

Foggy eyes snapped open. He caught a distinctly blond head jerking backwards, fixing into posture, until the figure stood posed with a soccer ball, staring down at him silently, even as Matt rubbed his eyes and slowly pushed himself up. He thought for a moment Mello was going to stick to his word and really _not_ speak to him at all - then the ball was urged into his lap.

"Get up." Matt rose.

He expected a bitter comment in passing, a bit of verbal abuse, an "accidental" kick in the shin, at least. But there was nothing. Only sun and sweat and small, breathless smiles.

--

**A/N:** Reviews equal love. Thanks, all! They make Lora very happy and very in the mood to keep writing. :D!


	7. Trapped llll99spoilersllll

**Trapped**

Leather fingers gripped a leather wheel. The turn of the wheel, the screech of the tires. The mumble of the tiny television leering out at him from its perch near the window.

It was all a dizzy scene.

He remembered being nine years old; nimble-fingered and ambitious. They were boys out to trap the possum, the very one that the caretakers had been complaining of recently upon coming to spilled trash and damaged apples out in the orchard. Matt seemed intrigued by the idea, but Mello remembered distinctly having to do all of the work.

He set out the trap and came back early the next morning to a dead rabbit, apparently having suffocated in the tangled web he had set. His eyes balked at the sight for a horrible minute; the limbs already hardening, the rabbit's mouth wide open and head pointed skyward as if pleading dumbly for its life. The boy had been so appalled by the visual that he'd shut his eyes tight, yanked the entire trap out of the ground and disposed of it, dead rabbit and all, into the farthest trash can in the lot. He was washing his hands for an hour and ignored everyone who knocked, pounded on the bathroom door, yelling his name. And Matt, he couldn't even tell Matt. It was a disgusting thing he had done; shameful. Matt would never have to know. Hell, he'd _never_ know.

Wammy's seemed like a far-off world now, a world of color and ice cream dreams and indoor voices. Yet he used to daydream without end for _these_ days. These days, where Mello was subject only to his own genius, able to constantly strive for the highest peak. He achieved everything to deepest personal benefit; taking in only the ripest of pleasures, the most dignified of roads. He was right in those childhood daydreams; everything _had_ changed for him. He had left _everything_ behind; the safety, the blind dreams, even the rabbit's face. Everything except Near, his hate for Near, his throbbing need to best Near... and Matt.

He never imagined it happening like this. Often he recognized grimly that yes, the end could come in a heartbeat - or lack thereof . It would take an instant, and in that instant everything he strived for would crumple to ruin like a jab in the side of a sand castle. Sometimes the thoughts looped like a curse in his mind; the feel of his own heart bursting; the tear of skin, the spattering of second-rate blood, shameful stains. But the television presented something completely new.

He recognized the car in a heartbeat. It was a sorry sight now; the windows shattered in and stray bullet holes imprinted into the hull. Mello imagined what it looked like in person; a deathbed in a sea of sparkling glass. It was a haunting thought that tugged at him from a distance; he refused to let it settle.

He heard the bullets ringing in his ears.

The turn of the wheel, the screech of the tires. Hollow eyes caught the hostage in the backseat. _She_ was going to live.

--

A/N: I feel bad that you all gave me such delicious reviews and then I stopped updating! Pretty subtle in this one, but I decided to post it anyway. Along with this other, also old one. I'mma try and get back to some real M/M soon.


	8. Upside Down

**Upside Down**

Here's the bit that's topsy turvy. From the very beginning, mellow Matt became notorious for three things: Talking senselessly to girls, dodging work and then avoiding conflict, and then of course, _Mello_.

The caretakers had noticed it right away, when the attraction first arose: they'd all witnessed enough puppy love to chuckle at the very words. But there was something odd about the way it happened; something that they couldn't quite place. Especially as the boys got older.

Maybe it was the way Matt watched Mello when it was just the two of them (caretakers were always about, picking up toys and messes and bits of conversation, like passive ghosts) and Matt was sure the girls were all some safe distance away. His eyes travelled the slim body, as if noting every detail, as if he were keen to detect the faintest tremor of movement. Maybe it was just troublesome... how Matt had fallen from his upside-down perch on the playground rail, almost breaking his neck in the process, and the first thing Mello had done was laugh the chocolate out of his mouth. That may have been years ago, but they're not sure it would happen differently if history were to repeat itself today.

Today, still, the caretakers notice the little things - and probably overlook a few, too: hushed whispers, meaningful glances caught from leagues away, laced fingers at the back of the room when the other children are napping the hours by. Near commented on this, once, and it had nearly become a full-out fist fight, Matt lounging calmly on the sidelines from behind orange lenses, as Mello pounced at the silver-headed boy with fire instantly kindled. Fortunately the caretakers had been quick enough to stop the outbreak from spreading like wildfire. Mello had a strange effect on people.

They'd noticed this from day one, that timid arrival on a rainy october day, clad in all stripes and buttons. And the first person they could get him to speak a word to was the stiff-shouldered boy with the reputation, sitting by himself in the time-out corner.

Sometimes interested parties came by the orphanage. The caretakers knew what was expected of the boys. Men asked if they could throw a football; the women wanted to know what they were interested in. Sometimes, it was hard to give a straight answer.


	9. School Bell

**68. School Bell **

Math equations, introductions to physics - for all Ms. Flaunch' s hot tamale lipstick was worth, her words could never drone out the sounds of young voices snickering outside in the hall.

Today, they all watched the door (Flaunch either pretended not to notice or didn't care), expecting to see Matt and Mello slide into class seconds before the bell and claim their seats, and some counted off the seconds on the clock. A few of the girls, mostly those their own age, giggled and whispered. Near sat and stared blankly ahead, ignoring the words of Marella, who had been his embarassing childhood crush, and who currently seemed to find Mello's renegade behavior "sexy". He no longer had any respect for her; fourteen years old and already ruined.

He knew Mello and Matt weren't sticking glue in Troppdale's office today, contrary to what the rest of the class was apparently thinking, from the little glitches of conversation he heard bouncing around in the air and occasionally catching him.

No, Mello had told Near himself he was going to be snogging someone in a closet seconds before bell, and he had given a peculiar smirk as he said it. Maybe he expected Near to be jealous - jealous of his good fortune with the ladies, presumably, when it was quite publically known that Near's misguided crush on Marella had ended in a humiliating disaster. But Near could still not be entirely sure of this reason - especially when he had seen a sneaky-looking Matt duck into a closet only seconds after a blonde head disappeared behind the door.

The bell rang, and Near barely heard it, at least less than he heard the sound of two bodies toppling into seats, panting from the run, panting from whatever had come before the run...


	10. Black and White

**Black and White**

Matt loved something about Mello - he wasn't entirely sure what it was or if he could ever hope to grasp it, only that it was probably doing him ill.

Maybe he loved his thighs - not that he had ever seen them without their familiar leather sheen, but still he enjoyed watching them shift next to each other as Mello wound one leg around the other, reclining into a ratty loveseat, shoes scuffing into the table.

He wondered if this was any basis for a solid reason. But as the gray area between Kira and Kira's enemies diminished - or spread, he suppose, sometimes it was hard to tell whether they were all heading towards the same ultimate goal or being shoved into opposite corners of a bloody room - one thing became more and more evident, and that was that he couldn't keep his eyes focused on a boss battle when Mello was doing arousing things with his legs again. _Damn._

It was like a chess board, now. Sometimes Mello was the black king, sometimes he was the white queen. Matt... well, he was always a pawn. But there was little he could do about it, and he doubted very much he'd ever endeavor enough to reach Mello's pedestal. That was alright, though. He was at least a piece on the board, while the rest of the world billowed by like grains of sand.

Then another day passed. Another day of irritable stares, of Mello's quick glances when he must have sensed Matt looking, watching... He smirked wryly (he'd _seen_ this time) and returned to his work, while Matt pretended to give a damn about the four gates he still needed to open before he could advance to the fifth stage.

Love and indifference. The black and white areas were still there. They were just starting to smudge.


End file.
